Left to Wander This Earth Alone
by Gandalf3213
Summary: Sam gets together with old college friends. Turns out they're huge fans of the Supernatural books and want to know how it ends. The only way to get the information out of Sam is to torture him for it. Obviously. Cue hurt Sam. Cue Dean saving the day. Cue all the secrets Sam's been keeping about what really happened while Dean was in Purgatory coming out.


_"You want to know what I confessed in there? What my greatest sin was? It was how many times I let you down. I can't do that again." **Sam Winchester, Sacrifice**_

_**.***.**_

Sam sighed and closed his laptop, scrubbing his hands over his face. They were in a cabin, a cabin in the woods of California and Dean was sitting out on the porch, cleaning the guns and whistling. It was a good day, an easy job, and Dean was actually joking with him, punching him in the arm and calling him Sammy.

So what if every time a branch snapped or Sam moved too suddenly he'd go blank, go into hunter mode, reaching for a gun? Some things couldn't be helped, and if anyone knew PTSD it was Sam. The scar on his palm was still there. "Hey Dean," he called through the open window, and Dean looked up as Sam opened the door and leaned against it, looking out at the acres of open forest they were camping in. "So, we're about twenty miles from Stanford"

Dean nodded, "I noticed the signs on the parkway too"

"Yeah. Well. A guy that I know—knew—he was pre-law too. Anyway, we've been e-mailing since September. It's been…well, it's been eight years since Jess and he said he's been thinking of her"

Dean was just looking at him and Sam swallowed. "It's not important. I won't go"

"Won't go where?"

"He's having a dinner party thing. Our old crowd. Jess's sister. People. It's tonight. I didn't think we'd be in the area so I said I couldn't go, of course, and we've got the poltergeist"

"I can do one Casper on my own," Dean said, turning back to the gun. "You wanna go, go. Do the college boy thing. Get it out of your system"

Sam didn't know if he wanted to go, didn't know if he wanted to dig at that particular old wound. It had been so long since Jess, several apocalypses and two hundred years of Hell memories and a dead father. He wasn't the same person who'd attended Standford, not by a longshot. But even though he and Dean had found some of their old rhythm after Purgatory, he was still distant, still pissed, and Sam couldn't tell him the truth. It'd be one more burden that Dean didn't deserve.

Did he want other people to talk to, other things to talk about? God yes. But they were having a good day.

"Don't want you hunting on your own," Sam said, digging his fingers into his palm. It was habit now, a nervous tick.

"Not like I haven't hunted worse," Dean said, and his voice took on that hard edge, and they were both thinking about Purgatory, again.

"Whatever," Sam huffed. "I'm walking down to town. Xander said he'd pick me up"

"It's five miles," Dean said.

Sam nodded. "Be careful. Call if you need backup"

"I won't call"

"When do you ever?"

A shot rang out in the woods. It was hunting season. Dean tensed, putting the gun together in a few deft motions and standing up. Sam almost touched him but thought that would make it worse. "You're out," he said, because how many times had Dean said that to him after the Cage? "You're out."

"No thanks to you," Dean snapped. Sam left quickly. He was a mile away before he realized he'd left his cell phone next to his laptop.

.***.

Xander had gotten fat. He grinned at Sam as he climbed into the car, whistling. "Wow, Winchester. Still looking like a fucking Adonis" He clicked his tongue, slapping the belly that spilled over the top of his jeans. "Married life isn't agreeing with me."

"You got married?" Xander was gay. He used to make frequent, half-serious passes at Sam while they were in school together. "Yup. Settled down and got domesticated a year ago. He's a chef, fattened me up. You'll like him. He's thin."

Sam laughed a little, because it was polite, but he was thinking of Dean on the front porch cleaning the guns. Xander kept talking, driving twenty, thirty minutes to a development of too-large houses. There were no cars in the driveway Xander pulled into. "I thought this was a party, "Sam said, a creeping sense of unease climbing up the tiny hairs on his arm.

"Oh, I'm sure everyone's just late. We're early. Will's inside. I told him to make you a salad. You still eating rabbit food?"

When he was in college, Sam had eaten like everyone else. Pizzas and beer and sandwiches. A tiny alarm bell was going off in the back of his mind and Sam squashed it. He wasn't going to become paranoid over every little thing. Maybe Xander was making assumptions. Maybe he was remembering someone else. Anyway, Sam did eat rabbit food. "Yeah."

Xander grinned and pushed open the door. There was a man in the kitchen. He was tall and very thin, with sunken eyes and a quick smile. He was cutting peppers with a huge knife and watching tv. Sam glanced at the show, recognizing Buffy the Vampire Slayer because Xander had been obsessed with it in college. It was the end of an episode, just zooming in on a grave. BELOVED SISTER. DEVOTED FRIEND. SHE SAVED THE WORLD A LOT. Maybe Sam would tell Dean to watch Buffy. It sounded relatable.

"Sam!" Will came out of the kitchen, still holding the knife slack in one hand, and gave Sam a huge hug. Sam stiffened, eyes darting around the room, assessing escape routes. "I feel like I know you. We talk about you all the time!"

"We?" Sam said, looking around the room. Xander had turned off the television and was standing alone in the living room. "Is anyone else here?"

"You're the guest of honor," Will said, "When Xander said he actually knew you, I didn't believe him. Want some salad? We want to hear all about hell."

"What?" Sam blinked. "What did you say?"

Will smiled. Xander shifted, putting a hand behind him and drawing out a gun as if it was the simplest action in the world. Sam went for the knife that he'd put in his pocket and flicked it out. He'd left his gun at the cabin. Dean never would have done that.

"Now that all the weapons are out," Will said, "Why don't we sit down like civilized people? Now, Sammy, Xander can either keep his gun on you or you can consent to being tied up. We just want to hear the end of the story. We're fans. We deserve to know, and we don't want you leaving before the end." He grinned, "Don't worry, though. We have plenty of refreshments."

He bent behind the counter and took out a length of rope. Sam raised an eyebrow at him. "If you know so much about me, you know that I can take both of you."

"Well, sure. If you weren't injured." Will nodded and Xander pulled the trigger and Sam pitched forward, pain exploding in his shoulder. He straightened up, blinking past the pain, but his momentary incapacitation was enough for Will, who pushed him into a chair. Xander held him down while Will tied his hands with quick, sure knots. "Boy Scouts," he said. "If you try to move we'll slit your throat and let you bleed out. This rug's old anyway."

Sam shook his head and flexed his muscles, looking for a way to break out. "What do you want?"

"Just the end of the story," Will said. He moved out of Sam's field of vision and came back with a stack of books. Chuck's books. Their books. "The writing gets worse after you jump into the Cage, and then it stops all together. Xander, get this man a glass of water. We're going to be here a while"

.***.

Dean took care of the poltergeist, no sweat. Just after dark he found the grave. The only thing he wished Sam was around for was the digging. Afterwards he sat on the headstone and leaned against the shovel and enjoyed the quiet.

He'd made Sam promise that he'd try to live a normal life if Dean was gone, and he'd meant it. Sam deserved better. Every time angels or demons interfered with their lives, Sam got the raw end of the deal. He was locked in a cage with angry archangels while Dean got raised from perdition. He'd just never have guessed that Sam would actually stop trying to find him. When Sam had died the first time, Dean hadn't been able to go twenty-four hours without him, had made a deal with the first demon he could find. That Sam had been able to survive, thrive, for a whole year while Dean was being chased around Purgatory just made Dean feel…stupid.

He hated being the person who cared more. When he was a kid, Sam had been his everything, his constant, and Dean had tried to be that for Sam, be brother and father and mother, friend and teacher and protector rolled into one. And Sam had bailed for Stanford, and then bailed on hunting, and not bailed on this hunt for Standford…

Dean needed a drink. He pushed himself away form the newly-refilled grave, brushing the dirt off his pants, glad he hadn't been knocked around much. He could walk into a bar and no one would look twice at him, except for maybe some pretty thing with long legs, someone Dean could flirt with all evening and walk home and let loose with.

It wasn't until he put the gun in the trunk that Dean's hand patted his back pocket. No wallet. "Damnit!" He slammed the trunk, knowing he'd have to go miles out of his way, back to the cabin, to grab the wallet that he'd left right on the rickety table. At least California had halfway decent radio stations.

By the time he got back he was feeling sore. God, they were getting to old for this. It took all of his willpower to get the wallet and not head for a shower, because a shower would lead to another early night crashing on an uncomfortable bed and in the long run he would prefer the memory of a warm body under his.

So he grabbed the wallet and his hand knocked over Sam's phone. "Seriously, Sam?" There were missed text messages, a missed call from a number with a 620 area code, which was somewhere in Kansas. One of the texts came from a girl named Caitlyn Moore. HEY SAM, HEARD YOU WERE IN THE AREA. WE SHOULD CATCH UP.

It would have been nothing, except Dean just remembered that Moore was Jess's last name, and why would a sister be texting Sam if she was going to see him tonight at that stupid party?

Something wasn't right. Sam called this feeling Dean's Spidey-sense. Dean had long ago dubbed it his big-brother radar. "One night at a bar," Dean muttered, opening Sam's laptop and clicking through his recent e-mails. Sam had been talking to contacts in police departments from four different states, checking into unexplained deaths. Dean scrolled up and found the e-mail from this morning. Sam saying he was in the area, Xander saying the address, Sam saying he would need a ride…

It was thirty minutes away. Dean would just swing by. If there was nothing going on, he could keep driving, find a bar, or maybe walk in and crash, hit on one of the girls in the group, watch how Sam acted around his friends. And if there was something fishy….

Dean got back in the car, turning up the radio and breaking speed limits as he drove. Sam had convinced him two years ago to let go of some of Luddite tendencies and get a smart phone. Maps was the most helpful app ever created.

The first indication that something was wrong was the lack of cars anywhere near the secluded, dark house. The next indication was the screams. Dean was out of the car like a shot, grabbing an extra gun from the trunk. His hands were shaking. Sam wasn't a screamer. It took some serious shit for him to make those sounds, wrenching, bloodcurdling.

Dean was tempted to just kick in the door, but he had no idea what he was up against. It could be anything, any number, it could be more fucking Leviathans for all he knew. So he went around the side, hoping for a window. What he got was better acoustics.

"So Dean and Castiel got pulled into a mysterious portal to Purgatory and you…what? You didn't try to go after them."

"No," Sam's voice sounded wrong, listless and dead, and Dean took a deep breath, glancing into a window and ducking back down, hoping no one saw.

From the quick glimpse, he'd gotten an impression of a high-end kitchen splattered with red, blood everywhere, Sam tied to a chair and bleeding out, one huge guy standing over him with a knife, a smaller guy interrogating and writing in a black book.

There was so much blood. Dean felt a surge of protectiveness he hadn't felt since before Purgatory. What were these monsters? They were going to burn.

"What did you do?" The same voice said. Dean took a few steps back from the wall, nerves as tight as bowstrings, trying to see a way in without being seen. He could still hear everything, though. He could hear every catch in Sam's voice, every note of pain.

"I…I went crazy," Sam whispered. His head was drooping onto his chest. He was going to lose consciousness, and Dean still couldn't figure out a way to get in while maintaining the element of surprise.

"You went crazy after the angel took the wall down in your brain," the fat man said, "And now you're going crazy again? We need a new storyline."

"I don't know what to tell you," Sam said, and his voice was thin but still snappish, still snarky Sam, and Dean loved him for that. "I thought Dean was in heaven. He was with Cas. He was better off. I had rogue Leviathans to deal with, the defective ones that didn't blow up, and demons who knew I was solo now. Dean was dead and he deserved peace and I deserved to be hunted. But I couldn't do it. I…I was seeing Him again."

"Lucifer?" The thin man said. He was holding Sam's hand and was cutting the palm open with a knife, the gesture as casual as if he was sketching a picture. "You saw Lucifer?"

"Everywhere. Dean wasn't there, he fixed it before. The only other way out was…pain."

The two men laughed at that, grating sounds, crazy sounds, and Dean couldn't take it anymore. The laughter was human, so he was either dealing with Skinwalkers or full-fledged loonies. He was banking on the latter.

Taking a running start, he hurled himself through the picture window.

.***.

"Sammy? Open your eyes, kiddo. Here, let me clean your head. You're fine. You're going to be fine. I'm getting you to the hospital. Couldn't call an ambulance with the bodies there."

Sam opened his eyes and he was in the Impala, like magic, and Dean was there, a genie, a hero in the nick of time. The last thing he remembered was glass shattering and Xander putting the gun to his temple.

He opened his mouth, coughed, moaned a the pain coughing caused, tried again. "Shot me." His voice was a whisper.

"Nah, I got the gun away in time." Dean kept glancing at him, and Sam wanted to bury himself. Dean had to save him again. Dean had been on a legitimate hunt and Sam had been too wrapped up in getting out of his way to notice that he was walking in on a couple of real-life crazy people. "Jesus, Sam, I thought he was going to pull the trigger."

"D'you kill 'em?" Sam asked.

Dean didn't answer, which was an answer. Sam slipped into unconsciousness. Dean was screaming his name.

.***.

"Sam? Don't move. You're more patches then skin at this point. Left your face alone, though. Didn't want to ruin your ugly mug."

Sam opened his eyes. More magic, from the Impala to a clean hospital bed. His throat felt better. Everything felt better, the pain having been tempered down from agony to a dull, persistent throb. He wished they had touched his face. Will kept saying it was pretty, so pretty. He's touched Sam's cheek, his lips, had nuzzled his nose to Sam's neck, had kissed Sam when he cried, until Sam bit him and Xander started cutting.

"Stay awake," Dean looked like he'd been awake for days. Sam knew how these things worked. It probably had been days. "Nearly lost you a couple of times, Sammy."

"D'ya get the ghost?" Sam asked.

Dean smirked, brushed Sam's hair out of his face, and the touch, the good touch, was so comforting that Sam wanted to lean into it, get more, except he and Dean might still be fighting. He didn't know anymore. "Got that poltergeist a week ago. You'd know that if you could keep your eyes open for more than five minutes at a go."

"Sorry."

That made Dean's face cloud over. Dean was really a tempest in a teacup, a barely controlled storm. "What were you saying to them? About what you did while I was in the other place?"

"I don't remember," Sam said, hoping it sounded casual. "They were…they wanted our story. They're fans of the Supernatural books."

"Oh, I got that," Dean said, "Took one of our old police badges and got in on the investigation at the house. Those books were everywhere, and posters, and fucking fanfiction. And the black book, the one that guy was writing in? I took it." Dean pulled the book out from the inside pocket of his jacket. "Is this—Sam, is this all true?"

"You knew all that stuff. Lucifer. The Cage. You knew."

"You said you went crazy," Dean pressed. "You were with Amelia. Who were you lying to, Sam? Me or them?"

Sam opened his mouth to respond, to say that he couldn't lie to them, that he didn't want to talk about his life, especially didn't want to talk about Dean's life, give away his brother's secrets, but when you're in that much pain, lying isn't possible. He'd learned that with Lucifer. He'd learned that a hundred times.

Before he could get the word out, Dean was standing and the world was going black at the edges and he was gone again. The last thing he heard was a low, sly, knowing laugh. His laugh.

.***.

"Come on, Sammy, you've got to talk about it!"

"Why?" They were in the car. Sam was covered in bandages but couldn't do the hospital anymore. Plus the police were circling. Dean had driven seventy miles from Xander's house before he thought it was safe to go to a hospital, but the investigation for the murders of the nice secluded gay couple was a State-wide search. It was better to clean out, start somewhere else, check on Kevin, wait for Cas. "Dean, it doesn't matter. I should have looked for you and I didn't. You looked for me every time. I dropped the ball. Can we not…" he paused, gasping. His lung had collapsed at some point during one of the many surgeries. It was hard for him to catch his breath. "I don't want to fight anymore. Please."

"You thought I was in Heaven?"

Sam closed his eyes, leaning against the seat, resigned. "Yeah. Stupid, I know, but I caught demons, I even found Crowley. They all swore up and down you weren't in Hell. I thought there was only one place left for you to go."

"You were doing me a favor."

"I thought I was. Thought I deserved it. Dean, I know Purgatory was awful, but Earth wasn't great either. Everyone wanted a piece of me. I made sure Kevin was hiding himself and then I went under myself."

"Not hunting?"

"Running," Sam said. "That's all it was. I was…I was pretty messed up. I started…"

"You were tripping Lucifer," Dean said, remembering what Sam had said to the crazies.

"He was there all the time. He kept telling me that he had you, that somehow that portal had made you and Cas end up in the Cage. He almost had me convinced. I was digging up some serious spells, looking for a way to spring the Cage."

"Sam!"

"I know, I know," Sam said quickly, "One of his better tactics. He pushed too hard, though. Headaches, all the time, and I couldn't sleep, and I was tracking down every source we had. I took too many pills one day, went to a library, someone found me in the middle of the night, seizing. So it was back to the loony bin." Sam took a deep breath. "There never was an Amelia, Dean. Or, there was. She was a nurse. She used to bring her dog on rounds."

Dean pulled over to the side of the road. "Sam. Look at me."

Sam was staring out the window. It took him a while to pull his eyes around to his brother. "Why the hell didn't you tell me this months ago? I've been giving you grief since I got out."

"You didn't want to hear it," Sam said, "And I was messed up. It took me a couple of days to convince myself that you weren't Lucifer again."

Dean blinked, reached over to put a hand on Sam's shoulder and wasn't surprised when he turned away from it. "Goddamn, Sam."

"I know," Sam sighed, "I was stupid for taking so many pills. For not being able to take on those demons. For believing that you were in the Cage and spending all my time trying to get you out of there. Sorry."

"Sam…"

"Can we just drive?" Sam said. His lips were tinged blue. He wasn't getting enough oxygen. "Please, Dean."

So they drove, and Dean didn't try to talk or push the subject but sometimes he'd reach over and tousle Sam's hair, and Sam was proud that he managed not to flinch, even though he could feel Lucifer's hands on him, Will's hands on him, doing the same thing and reaching for more.

He dug his fingers into the palm of his hand and gritted his teeth and took anything Dean would give him, because out of the two of them Sam was the one who needed his brother more, and any scrap of attention Dean gave to him would have to be enough.

**.***.**

**look, Sam's our favorite. he's constantly apologizing on the show and Dean never apologizes. or accepts Sam's apologies. And Sam accepts Dean's every time because he has to, because Dean is everything and the one time he tried to find a life outside of his brother he was shamed for it. but they're best when they're together.**

**hope you guys liked this. it was a great stress relief from writing our thesis. getting reviews is like getting love.**


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